


Your Full Attention

by backwardspurpose



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Oliver fantasizing about Felicity, Oliver makes poor life choices, POV Second Person, but he's great at self-loathing, mature language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwardspurpose/pseuds/backwardspurpose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And I feel like when Isabel was with Oliver maybe she sensed that, uh…she didn’t have his full attention." - Captain Amell</p>
<p>This is a take on Oliver's thoughts during his indiscretion with Isabel, inspired by Stephen Amell's comments on why Isabel hated Felicity so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Full Attention

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I saw the Stephen Amell quote, I was ravenous for fics of Oliver thinking about Felicity while *ahem*WITH*ahem* Isabel. I never found any, so I decided to take a stab at it myself. It's been ages since I wrote anything creative, but I couldn't get this thing out of my head.
> 
> If anyone knows of a fic like this that's already out there (or is inspired by this idea and writes something new), let me know because I'd love to read it! I'm addicted to Olicity Angst, and seriously, there is SO MUCH POTENTIAL with this quote as inspiration.

Later, you'll ask yourself how you let it happen. How the situation got so far away from you.

 

But there, in the moment, is this fierce mystery of a woman (and somehow she seems to really _see_ you) dragging you to your hotel room and attacking your neck with her lips and teeth. It's all so fast that you _almost_ don't have time to think about why this is so, so wrong. But when you hesitate, instead of stopping like you mean to, you just warn her that you don't have a lot of time. There's really no excuse, but well... it's been a while.

And then she's ripping off your clothes and soon you both end up mostly naked in your hotel room bed. The lamp light is soft, some would say romantic. You still can't help but think the room is too bright for this. So as you push into her, you shut your eyes.

And you curse. Because behind your lids, you see blue eyes and blonde hair and brightly painted lips. And this is NOT OK. _Good job Oliver, you've just sunk to a whole new level of fucked up_. You force your eyes open and it's worse, because now you're comparing. Cataloging the differences between this woman and the one who so effortlessly entered your mind (and who so rudely refuses to leave it).

Her lips would be fuller. Her hips, too. You moan and snap your eyes shut again at the thought. And you hate yourself a little bit more. _She's just a friend she's just a friend she's just a friend._ The words mock you.

And you don't know if you're imagining it, but you swear you _smell_  her. _Godfuckingdamnit_ do they use the same shampoo?? It's unlikely... you should look up if olfactory hallucinations are a real thing. Either way, you bury your face into the hair that rests on the pillow beneath you and take a deep breath. Suddenly you're almost there.

You feel the body underneath you tense as you thrust more vigorously, but you can't bring yourself to open your eyes again. You know it makes you _such_ an asshole, but you give in to this fantasy because you know you'll never let yourself have the real thing. Long elegant fingers dig into your shoulder and you pretend they're the same ones that you hear typing fervently every day and night.

Then you're coming, and your teeth catch your bottom lip as you grind out a sound, " _Ffff_." Thankfully, you stop yourself before her name actually leaves your mouth. Because that might be the one thing that could make you feel worse about yourself right now - if you actually said her name while inside another woman.

You roll off the bed and immediately put your clothes back on. You're not even sure if she came, but she seems satisfied with the encounter ("Do I strike you as someone who needs to cuddle?"). Your jaw clenches at the sight of her in your bed. Regret immediately washes over you and your stomach sinks. But you manage to plaster a tight smile on your face and take the out she's giving you for the blessing it is.

You can hardly get out of there fast enough, but all of a sudden **s** **he** is in your open doorway. And because you get exactly what you deserve, she finds out what just took place in your hotel room. You want to punch something when you hear Isabel gloat to the flabbergasted blonde as she slinks out of the room, and you can't help but wonder if it was meant to punish you also. You see Felicity put two and two together, and your chest feels like it's going to cave in because she is lost for words. You say her name (and it feels like a _sin_ \- like lightning should strike you for uttering it with such tenderness) but she quickly composes herself ("What happens in Russia stays in Russia") and before you know it, she's turning around.

You were, just ten minutes ago, imagining her while screwing another woman. A woman that she despises. And you just stand there like a fucking idiot as she walks away. Because what else can you do? Felicity deserves so much more than you can offer, and you barely deserve her help, let alone her affection.

 

You grimace as you realize, if making poor life choices were an Olympic sport, you'd win a goddamned gold medal. And that's why you can't trust yourself with Felicity Smoak.


End file.
